


Origin

by sociallyawkward_fics



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M, Mind Control, Superhero Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 12:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7801090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sociallyawkward_fics/pseuds/sociallyawkward_fics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Every hero has their origin story. You hear about Batman losing his parents, Captain America chosen to be a super human for his heart of gold, and so on and so forth. But see, those are just comics. This origin story is the real deal."</p>
<p>Written for this prompt: "I have a prompt for you:) :Dean has a crush on Cas but when Cas starts dating other people he gets jealous and has an argument with Cas and goes home saddened. The next he wakes up with superpowers and at first he uses them to do good. But the man who gave Dean and a bunch other people the powers has his own agenda. He mind controls them in order to conquer the world. Cas is determined to save Dean from the control."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Origin

**Author's Note:**

> I going to start off with this: please give this story a chance. I know you probably hate reading fanfic in the first person - I do too - but I was experimenting with a new style on this one and I felt like it really fit the prompt. My lovely beta agrees with me. So please, give it a chance. Also, this was originally a prompt, which I usually write drabbles for, but the prompt was so good (and also pretty specific) that it ended up being this long. I like it, though. Without further ado, here is Origin! I hope you enjoy!

Every hero has their origin story. You hear about Batman losing his parents, Captain America chosen to be a super human for his heart of gold, and so on and so forth. But see, those are just comics. This origin story is the real deal. I can tell you because I lived it.

Dean tells me it started when I got my first girlfriend, but I suppose you need a little more background than that to understand. Dean and I had known each other since our junior year of high school and had become fast friends. This friendship stretched on through college.

Four years later, our junior year of college, you could easily call us best friends. If I’m being completely honest, I was in love with Dean. His hair, his eyes, those stupid bow legs. What had me most taken was his personality.

He was just so  _ good _ . I didn’t understand how one man could be so good, and I still can’t. Sure he had his moments where he wasn’t so good and he made mistakes, but he was only human.

The only thing was, I was certain he didn’t care for me the same way I cared for him. He had only ever shown interest in women, and that interest never went beyond a one night stand.

Let’s just say, when you share an apartment with Dean Winchester you invest in earplugs.

But never mind that. I wasn’t going to waste my life waiting for a straight man who was afraid of commitment. Really, I shouldn’t have assumed, but that’s not what we need to focus on right now.

There was a girl, of course, as stated previously. Her name was Meg. She was sarcastic and mean and crude and everything Dean wasn’t (except for maybe the sarcasm part). She didn’t care for anyone but herself. So, I asked her out for coffee. Then, we went on a few more dates. After about two weeks of this, I asked her to be my girlfriend.

I believe her response was something along the lines of, “Sure, whatever. Does this mean we can fuck now?”

Meg, you see, was very sexual. I was not.

Again, that’s not really the topic we should be focusing on.

I went back to the apartment I shared with Dean and told him the “good” news. For some reason (a reason that was very obvious if I hadn’t been wallowing in so much self pity) Dean did not like the news. 

“Dammit, Cas,” he had said. “She’s just using you!”

“Dean, how can you say that?!” I had said back. I wasn’t really offended, I knew he was right, but I at least had to try and pretend I was happy.

“It’s obvious! She’ll be cheating on you before you know it!”

“She won’t,” I had protested half-heartedly.

“See, you don’t even believe what you’re saying yourself!”

“I-”

Dean had cut me off. “You should be dating someone worth your time, someone who will actually care about you!”

I remember scoffing at that idea. How foolish I had been. “Like who?” I had laughed.

“Like-” Dean started shouting, but he cut himself off before finishing.

“Never mind,” he had said. “Do whatever the fuck you want.”

Dean, the man I loved and thought to be good, had cut deep. Dean never stopped me from doing what I wanted (even if it had been the wrong choice), but he had always cared and made sure I was certain it was what I wanted. Not only was he not happy for me like a normal would have been, he didn’t care about what I was doing.

I remember after that fight he had stormed off into his room. A few seconds later, I had done the same. I packed an overnight bag and called out to Dean that I was leaving and not to wait up. I went and spent the night with Meg.

We had sex.

I did not enjoy it.

Now, here’s where the real story begins.

Dean had gone to sleep that night upset and hurt. He told me it was because he had been in love with me (how oblivious we were) and was jealous of my relationship with Meg. He, of course, did not want to tell me his feelings so he could date me instead, if I even felt the same way (how could he ever think I didn’t?). It would’ve broken Meg and me up only hours after we had officially gotten together. He was too good a man for that. 

The next morning, a Saturday if I recall, Dean tells me he awoke with a headache. Not only normal headache either, Dean says he had never felt anything like it. Not even painkillers could stop it.

He tells me after hours of lying in bed in pain, the headache suddenly vanished. So relieved, he took a nap. When he awoke this time, he felt different.

He had gotten out of bed and looked at the time. It had been three twenty in the afternoon, and so he decided to go for a run.

He may not have looked or acted like it back then, but Dean Winchester did exercise. He just didn’t like people knowing that he did for whatever reason. He still won’t tell me why to this day.

He went on his usual run on his usual route and made a faster time than he ever had before. Not only that, he had barely broken a sweat. Dean tells me he found this incredibly strange, but brushed it off. He was too focused on what I had done with Meg the night previously, he says.

Still having plenty of energy to burn, Dean went to the gym. Now, he had a membership at a gym far from the college campus so no one he knew could find him there. Once again, I am entirely unsure about why Dean was so afraid of people knowing or seeing him exercise.

At the gym, he started lifting some weights to help get his arm strength up. He had been shocked by the fact that the heaviest weights he could lift before now felt like nothing to him. Trying to make the excuse to himself that he had worked out so much that those weights were now too light for him, Dean went to find the next heaviest ones.

Those were too light, too.

The next ones were as well.

Dean went through this process again and again until he discovered all the weights were too light.

At this point, Dean says, he was panicking. He didn’t know what he was going on, how it happened, or how to fix it. He hyperventilated in a stall in the locker room for some time before changing and leaving.

He quickly ran out to his car.

Now, Dean’s run had taken about an hour. The drive to the gym took about fifteen minutes. He had spent a couple hours in the gym, lifting weights that were too light and practically having a mental break over his new abilities.

So, by now, it was past six in the evening. The sky was rather dark for that time, but it  _ was _ winter after all. However, being that it was dark, it was the perfect time to commit a crime.

Dean tells me that soon after unlocking his car he heard a scream. Dean tells me he froze in place, unsure of what to do. He tells me he then grabbed a mask he had left in his trunk from Halloween - it was my Groot mask, he had been Rocket the Racoon - slipped it on, and ran in the direction of the sound.

It took me a while to wheedle this next bit of information out of Dean. I’ll use his exact words to describe his situation and how he felt.

“I dunno, Cas. I was terrified. All I knew is that I had gotten some weird as fuck powers for no damn good reason. I mean, I didn’t even think I deserved them, still don’t think I do. But I grabbed that stupid-ass mask you wore and went running into danger like the dumbass I am. I felt like I was on the verge of an anxiety attack or a mental break. All I wanted to do was run away. Instead, I ran toward the scream. 

I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I thought that since I had some weird new gift, I might as well use it for good. So that’s what I did that night, I used it for good. I just wish it made up for all that other shit that happened after.”

We’ll get back to the “all that other shit that happened” comment later.

See Dean, when he had run after the scream, found a man and a woman in an alley behind a bar. The woman had looked mostly sober, but the man had appeared to be drunk. He had a handful of her hair is his grasp and had her pressed against the wall.

“C’mon, baby,” the man had said. “I know you want it. Stop playing hard to get.”

“No,” the woman had cried. Actually cried, Dean says, there were tears flowing down her face in rivers. “Please, stop! I said no!”

That’s when Dean had stepped in.

“Excuse me, sir,” Dean had said.

“What the fuck are you?” The man had replied.

“I believe the lady told you to stop.”

The man had chuckled. “Aww, she doesn’t mean it!”

“I fucking do, you bastard!” The woman had shrieked.

Dean tells me it was so loud he thought he actually heard a car alarm go off.

“Let the lady go, sir,” Dean told the man. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

The drunk man had sneered. “You just want her all to yourself!”

Dean, apparently out of patience, walked straight up to the man and punched him in the face. Now, Dean - unless drunk - is actually not a very confrontational man, despite his reputation. I was shocked when he told me he had punched the man without warning. 

The man knocked his head against the asphalt on the ground and had laid there unconscious while Dean helped the woman stand back up. She had fallen when the weight of the man pushing her against the wall had disappeared.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” Dean had asked her.

“Yes, I am,” she had responded, clearly shaken.

“I’m gonna wait here with you and we’re gonna call the police. I’m going to leave when they get here, but you’re going to stay and tell them what happened. That okay with you, ma’am?”

Dean tells me the woman simply nodded, seemingly afraid of him.

He had waited with her until the police arrived, just as he said. They earned many strange glances from passers-by, but Dean said he tried to ignore them. It was rather strange to see a man standing in an alley with a Groot mask on, after all.

Dean bid the woman farewell when he heard the sirens getting near.

He tells me he drove right back to our apartment, dropped face-first into his bed, and started sobbing. He probably wouldn’t appreciate me telling you that, but it’s true. He tells me that he had been so terrified that he couldn’t hold it in any longer and cried for a straight thirty minutes.

Dean Winchester is only human. It would do you all well to remember that, especially if you’re a fan of his.

After he was finished crying, he took a page out of my book and took a long, hot shower to help him cool down. Then, he drank two full cups of water and sneaked into my “tea collection” as he calls it for something more calming. I’m glad I instilled in him the good self care habits I tried so hard to instill in myself.

After this, Dean says he went to sleep.

On my side of things, I had gone out all day to avoid Meg. I went to the movies, went to get coffee with some study partners, and at one point I even headed back to my apartment. My original plan was to apologize to Dean and then have a movie marathon with him, his choice.

Instead, Dean was not there. I had gotten there only shortly after he had left for the gym, so we completely missed each other. I, for some reason, took it as a sign he was still angry with me and packed another overnight bag. Though every instinct was telling me not to, I went back to Meg’s. She wanted to have sex again that night. I asked if we could just cuddle and watch a movie instead. She said no.

Meg made me have sex with her.

If possible, I enjoyed it even less than I had the night before.

But enough but me. This is meant to be about Dean.

The next morning he was on the news. Or, well, the story of what he did last night was. Luckily, they didn’t get any pictures of him in that ridiculous Groot mask.

The woman he saved, he found out her name was Lisa, was even interviewed for more than one news station. 

The story was everywhere. Newspapers, magazines, the news. Dean tells me he felt like he couldn’t escape it, despite it not being his proudest moment.

It especially blew up on social media. He was everywhere, people taking sides on whether he was a hero or some weird guy looking for some fun or even a psychopath. 

Dean tells me that he tried to only listen to the people calling him a hero. He tells me they made him feel better about that night. He tells me they made him want to do the most good he could with his new abilities.

So he tells me he did.

He put that stupid Groot mask on every night and went out looking for people to help. Living near a college campus sure had it’s perks for a Guardians of the Galaxy vigilante. 

He says even after I returned home after spending nearly a week at Meg’s (where she continued to make me have intercourse with her) he kept going. I hadn’t even realized. Dean was good, he sneaked out without alerting me every night for a month.

Dean tells me he thought the news would eventually get bored with him if he kept doing good, but that was not the case. They wanted to know who he was, they wanted to find him. 

After three weeks, stories were beginning to pop up questioning how good he actually was.

After the full month, most stories were like that.

I, of course, scoffed at these stories when Dean and I watched the news in the morning before heading to class.

“Really,” I would snort, “they’re just trying to get the guy mad now.”

“What do you mean?” Dean would ask.

“They’re trying to make him angry so he’ll expose himself to the press. They’re just trying to prey on him for a story someone will actually read.”

“You think he’s a good guy, then?”

“Of course! I mean, look at the guy! He saves women from getting raped or kidnapped, he stops robberies, he even kept that guy from hitting a dog with his car last night!”

At the time, I didn’t realize why Dean was smiling so big. Now I realize it’s because I was calling him a hero, and that’s all he ever wanted.

After this month of heroism, however, things began to go downhill.

I was spending three nights a week at Meg’s per her request and each night she would make me have sex. That was all she seemed to be interested in with me, which hurt, but at the time I did not know Dean was an option.

Dean, the morning after one of these nights, woke with a headache similar to the one when he got his powers. He says he had debated calling me, but decided he felt too ill to even look at a phone screen, much less listen to someone talk.

He says he got up, got some painkillers, and went back to sleep.

When he awoke again, he was not in control of himself.

His arms and legs were moving without his command. He tells me he tried to fight it for a long while, but by the time he had driven his car to an abandoned warehouse, he had given up.

_ Good _ , Dean tells me a voice said in his head.  _ That is very good, my little pet. Do not resist me. _

Dean says he was too tired to fight it anymore. He just wanted to sleep.

_ Yes, my pet. Go to sleep. _

Dean tells me that the world went dark after that. He next awoke standing in a room with at least two dozen other men and women. He says a man stood in front of them.

He tells me the man had the same voice as the one in his head. “I,” the man said, “am Metatron. You, however, may call me Master.”

Dean tells me at this point he could not do anything. He says he  _ wanted _ to listen to this Metatron. He  _ needed _ to. He had no choice, no control.

He tells me he still has nightmares of it.

“Yes, Master,” Dean and the other men and women had droned.

“You, my pets, are going to do some great work,”   Dean tells me Metatron had said. “You see, humanity has gotten out of hand lately, and God has given me the gift of you all to fix it. You might have noticed about a month ago he received some strange powers. I hope you enjoyed your freedom with them while you could, because they’re mine now.

“You see, God wants to cure this earth of humanity and start over. He wants to start over with people like you. Strong, faithful men and women who will do whatever they are told. And that, my pets, is why I am here. I am your puppeteer, your master, if you will, and it’s my job to make sure that you do your job. Your job,” Metatron had built up a feral grin by this point, and Dean says he threw back his head in laughter for a few moments.

“Your job, my pets, is to eradicate the human race. Oh, what a story it will be. I will be the savior of the earth, and you all will be my loyal subjects.”

Dean and his fellow mind slaves suddenly bowed to Metatron. “Yes, Master,” they said.

“Go now, my pets, and complete your task.”

“Yes, Master.”

Dean tells me that they marched out, moving like a hive mind. Really, they were.

This next part Dean is always silent about. He refuses to talk about it or even pretend that it happened. I suppose my point of view must be enough.

Each person went to a different part of the city and started wreaking havoc. It was all over the news. People were urged not to leave their homes. They were also urged not to open the door for anyone, as the mind slaves had a habit of pretending to be wounded survivors before killing you. The city was being torn apart.

Dean came home hours after the alert to stay in your homes. I had the lights off like they suggested.

“Where have you been?!” I had shouted at him.

He did not respond. He simply looked at me blankly. I remember this as the most terrifying moment in my life.

“Dean,” I had said a bit quieter, “are you alright?”

Against my better judgement, I flicked on a lamp. 

I remember the horror of seeing Dean covered in blood.

I remember the terror I felt when those blood covered hands wrapped themselves around my throat and began to squeeze with an inhuman strength.

I remember the fright I felt when I looked into Dean’s eyes through my blackening vision and didn’t fight him there.

And I remember the anger coursing through my veins when I realized this wasn’t him.

But I could not escape his grip. He was superhuman, after all. No one could escape him. So I did the only logical thing to do in this situation. I begged for my life.

“Please,” I had tried to get out around his hands on my throat. It came out like more of a croak.

“Dean, please,” I tried again. I wasn’t getting enough oxygen. Everything was going dark. Dean wasn’t stopping.

I had decided in that moment that if I was dying, I was at least going to die with having told Dean how I felt.

“I love you,” I rasped out.

Just before my world had gone dark, Dean released me.

I had fallen to the ground coughing and sputtering and gasping. I looked up at Dean during all this and found that some of the cloudiness in his eyes had disappeared. 

“Cas, I-” he had whispered. He cut himself off and doubled over in pain.

After that, he had disappeared from his own eyes again. I had no clue what was going on at the time, but I decided that whatever or whoever was trying to take Dean had to go through me.

“Dean Winchester,” I had said.

Dean stood up ramrod straight again and looked me right in the eyes. I couldn’t find him in them still.

“Dean Winchester, I love you,” I said firmly.

Dean’s face had softened.

“I am in love with you, Dean Winchester.”

His posture had relaxed.

“I love you so much. Dean, please, come back to me.” My voice had cracked.

He was in his own eyes again.

“Cas?” He had asked.

I threw myself into his arms, disregarding the blood.

I remember Dean had started crying into my shoulder. He kept apologizing.

“It’s okay,” I had whispered to him. “It’s okay, you’re back now.”

Dean had lifted his head after that. “Cas, we gotta stop him.”

I had furrowed my brow. “Stop who?”

“Metatron,” Dean told me. “He’s doing this. We gotta stop him.”

I remember being terrified of what that meant. How could any one person create so much destruction? And how was he using other people to do it? Unfortunately, we never found out.

Because when Dean drove us to the warehouse, Metatron had kept some of his superhumans there as guards.

Because when Dean had gone to distract them, he had given me a pistol out of the glove box.

Because Dean had told me to stay in the car but I hadn’t listened.

I had been out of the car for mere seconds when I was grabbed by another mind slave neither of us had noticed.

The woman dragged me into the warehouse. I remember trying to shoot her - just in the arm so she would let me go - but she took the gun from me and crushed it in her fist.

That’s when I met the Metatron Dean had spoken of.

He was an older look gentleman. He was small and stout and really not much to look at. If you saw him on the street, you wouldn’t have given him a second glance.

“Well, well, well,” I remember Metatron cooing at me. “This story is just  _ riveting _ isn’t it? A little human trying to save the day.”

“Yes, Master,” the woman who dragged me in had said. “Riveting.”

“I suppose now that God has brought me a rebel, I will put him down myself.”

I watched helpless in the woman’s arms as Metatron took a gun from the table next to him. I hadn’t even noticed it in my struggle to get away.

And struggle I did. I remember the bruises on my arms that lasted for weeks after. That woman’s grip was true.

Dean tells me when he came in to find that scene playing out his blood ran cold. He says he didn’t know what to do. So he had followed his instincts.

I remember the gun going off and squeezing my eyes shut, preparing for death.

I remember a pained shout that was not my own.

I remember Metatron tisking as I opened my eyes to see Dean in a heap at my feet.

“I knew you would be trouble, pet,” Metatron had said. “But God gave me you so I could becoming stronger.”

Metatron raised his gun to my head again.

Dean tells me that this was the only way out.

I don’t doubt him. I just wish it didn’t haunt him as much as it did.

Dean had punched Metatron in the chest and sent him flying backwards into the wall. He dropped the gun when hit. He hit his head when he reached the wall. Hard.

I remember being dropped immediately after that. I remember looking up and seeing the woman’s confused face turn to horror as she saw the blood on her hands.

I remember the remorse I felt for her and all those subjected to Metatron’s control.

But we never learned how he did it. 

And Dean has never forgiven himself for what he did to that man.

Because the blow to Metatron’s head from hitting the wall killed him.

After that horrifying experience and a nice, long chat with the police, Dean and I had headed home.

We made a stop at Meg’s first where I broke up with her. 

Her response was yet again, “Whatever.”

Dean and I talked for a long while that night. He told me most of the things that I’ve written here. I told him what Meg had forced me to do. He had growled out that he hadn’t saved the one person he should have been saving.

I told him that not only was that untrue, but those other people needed saving too.

And then Dean had asked me if I minded him using his powers to keep helping people.

And I had asked why what I thought matters.

And he said, “Because I love you, too.”

And that’s really all you need to know.

Because this origin story is real, unlike all those ones you read in your comics. Unlike all those ones you see on TV or in movies. This is their origin story. Those heroes you worship in the press, the fan favorite being dubbed Guardian Groot. This is how they came to be. Someone needed to tell their story, let people know that these heroes have suffered.

So treat them nicely the next time one comes to help you out. And don’t be afraid.

* * *

 

Castiel set his computer down on the coffee table with a smile and a sigh. Dean walked around the corner of the couch with two mugs of hot chocolate and sat down.

“Done writing for today?” He asked.

“Nah,” Castiel said and Dean rolled his eyes. Castiel smiled wider. “Done writing for a while. I finished.”

Dean’s face lit up. “Really? Am I allowed to read it now? Or at least know what it’s about?”

Castiel grinned. “It’s our origin story.”

Dean rolled his eyes affectionately, used to his husband’s love of superhero wordings.

“Shut up, the ‘Guardian Groot’ is retired. That was such a stupid name anyway.”

“The Guardian Groot may be retired, but you sure as hell aren’t,” Castiel teased, referencing the nights where Dean would become restless and sneak out in search of crime.

“Yeah, well…”

Castiel grinned and looked to his laptop. Sure, he wrote the tale like he was trying to tell the story of the world’s favorite heroes, but really, he just wanted the world to know that the best hero of all was his.

Dean leaned over and planted a quick kiss on his cheek before picking up the laptop and beginning to read.

The best hero was his. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it and I'm glad you gave it a chance despite it being in the first person for most of it. Leave a kudos or comment telling me what you think! And, as always, I am very open to constructive criticism. Please especially let me know what you thought of the style, I'm really nervous about that. And you can find me [on tumblr](sociallyawkward--fics.tumblr.com) and send in your own prompt, chat, and look for progress updates on my other fics! See you all next time!


End file.
